ReD aNd PuRpLe
by iwritetrollfics
Summary: Your name is Mipree Joclai, and you've just been forced into a matespritship with a Subjugglator. AU. OC/Gamzee redrom, OC/Karkat pale, OC/Eridan blackrom, Karkat/Eridan blackrom. Warnings at the beginnings of each chapter. hOnK.
1. Hilarities 2:16

**Be Eridan Ampora.**

You sat forward on your throne, jaw clenched so tightly that it ached. Your expression, already one filled with murderous intent, kept growing darker as your personal servant read the report of the damage Makara and his cronies had caused.

"… seven market stalls burned, half of one storehouse, twelve slaves dead, one indigoblood dead-"

"The fire killed them?" you cut in. The servant raised his orbs to look at you, then quickly looked at the floor and dipped his head as an apology for the disrespect.

"No, my lord. They were bludgeoned to death." The servant didn't jump or cringe as you swore and slammed your fists on the throne's arms. You supposed he had come to expect such outbursts from you over the sweeps that you'd been together. When your curses and bellowing subsided, he cleared his throat.

"Would you have me continue, my prince?"

You leapt up, gold-embroidered cape flying, and snatched a crystal goblet from the table beside you. The servant watched impassively as you hurled it against the wall; it burst into a hundred shards and rained onto the marble tile.

" _More?!"_ you raged. "You tell me that clown trash burned half my city market and killed an indigo, and there's _more?!"_ You kicked the table over and smashed a glass pitcher against the floor. " _He's makin' a fuckin' fool of me!"_

"I mean no disrespect, your majesty, but seven stalls certainly isn't half the market."

You whirled around, gander-orbs flashing with fury, and then paused. The servant was staring respectfully at the floor, as cool and collected as ever. You studied the much smaller troll, the primal and darker parts of you wanting to find something combative in the servant's demeanor, but, as always, you found nothing. Your favorite servant was always so calm, so unafraid of you. You had hated the other troll's austerity and lack of fear at first, but eventually had come to realize that you could rely on his level-headedness for sound counsel and, if you were honest with yourself, a sort of emotional anchor to keep your temper in check.

And boy, did you have a temper.

Despite the long sweeps you had spent together, you still weren't able to recognize the way your servant's shoulders relaxed slightly when you let out a breathy chuckle and shook your head. "Oh, Karkat," you muttered, "you're right. How is it you're always right? And look at me; I'm makin' more a fool of myself than the clown. Cruel irony." You moved close to the other troll and brushed his cheek with bejeweled and gold-ringed fingers, hoping that he would dare to lift his gander-orbs.

"Permission to speak freely, my lord?" Karkat said, his gaze still firmly on the floor. You frowned a little and pulled away, immediately missing his warmth. A wave of your hand and you moved back to sit back on your throne, closing your orbs and trying to rub away the ache that had started up in your temples.

"Go on."

"Perhaps it would be wise to take the Condesce's advice," Karkat said. "A moirail from your court, or a matesprit, could do a good deal to make him more obedient and rational. I mean, even you might-"

Your orbs snapped open. You stared at Karkat for a moment before roaring with laughter. "Me?" you cried. "A clown's moirail? Or _matesprit?_ " The absurd notion had you in such stitches that you doubled over in your seat. The Condesce might be able to pail a clown, but, gog, Makara was no Grand Highblood. You wiped violet tears from your face with the back of your hand, laughter fading to a soft chuckle.

"Someone from the _court_ , then," Karkat said finally. "You must create a stabilizing link between you and Makara, my prince, otherwise he could end up burning the whole city down. And who knows how long it will take him to find the rebels, if he ever finds them? He could be here for _sweeps_."

Your nutrition sack churned at the thought of the damage the crazy cultists might do to your city, at the damage they had _already_ done. You didn't necessarily care about the mass-slaughters of lowbloods or the peasants' stalls and houses burning, but more about how fucking _bad_ it made you look in opinion of the other nobles. _Brine-sucker can't keep a handful of clowns under control,_ you could hear them whispering. Pretty soon, they might actually think you so soft and incapable as to deserve another assassination attempt.

Or Makara might just club you over the head in your sleep. You wouldn't put it past the crazy fucker.

"Vetina Nessin," Karkat said, and you looked up at him in surprise. "She would make a good moirail for him, or matesprit."

"Nessin is useful," you muttered, picturing the violetblood's pretty, if snub-nosed, face in your pan. "It would be a waste-"

Karkat dipped an apologetic bow as he interrupted. "Your majesty, Nessin is rational, loyal, and, above all, patient. She would make a good liaison between the Church and the court... my prince."

You watched the servant lift his orbs when you didn't say anything. Your blood-pusher ached a little when you locked gazes, and you yearned to tell Karkat that he could use your name.

 _Like you did when I buried myself in you so deep that you screamed-_

You pushed the thought away before your body betrayed you. "You really think it would work?" Karkat nodded.

"The Condesce thinks so, too."

"And you truly believe that Nessin is the best choice?"

Karkat nodded again.

You sighed and gestured for the warmblood to come close to you. Karkat obeyed, as always, stepping up onto the dais and pushing his short red and gold cape aside to kneel before you. On a whim you raised a hand, and Karkat stopped as he was about to drop onto one knee. You stood up, and Karkat lowered his gaze.

"My lord?" he said softly, confusion in his voice as the toes of your gold boots touched his own.

You reached forward and gently took the other troll's face in both of your cool hands, drawing a soft gasp from him that made you want to pap his cheeks and push your tongue into his mouth at the same time. "I trust you, Karkat," you murmured, your thumbs brushing over his soft skin. "You've always served me well, better than any servant I've ever had. Somethin' like that deserves to be rewarded… don't you think?" Karkat's gaze flicked away with your last words, his face flushing bright red. When he looked at you again, his expression was unreadable.

"I only do as I should, your majesty," he said simply. You looked deeply into his gander-orbs, your face so close that you knew he could feel your cool breath on his skin. Your pusher ached and ached as you searched for something pale, flushed _,_ or hell, even _pitch_ in there, but you found nothing.

 _Gog damn it._

Karkat stumbled on the dais step as you pushed him backward and slumped onto your throne. You dropped your face into your hands and muttered for him to get out. He moved away without saying a word, and that made you want to scream more than anything.

* * *

 **Be Mipree Joclai.**

What was taking him so long?

You sat on one of the window seats in the palace's royal halls, bouncing your knee and tapping your fingers together anxiously. The halls were empty, save for the occasional guard passing by, and so the only sound that reached you came from the ocean waves crashing faintly on the rocks a thousand feet below. It should have been a soothing noise, but your nerves were too shredded to find anything comforting. Even food was sickening to look at, so you had skipped your last three meals. You had gone to the mess for dinner, of course, but only to keep from looking so suspicious as you hung around the royal halls off-duty. You knew that being in the royal halls at all was suspicious-looking, but you couldn't help it. You had tried, but you just couldn't sit and wait in your respite block for whatever was going to-

One of the heavy double doors, the old-fashioned kind that you had to push, opened at the end of the hallway. You jumped upright, intending to make yourself scarce, when you saw a small figure step outside and close the door behind him.

It took everything in your power to stand where you were and wait for him to come to you.

The other troll walked right past you at first, but only to check an adjacent hall to make sure no one was around. When he was satisfied, he came back.

"What in grub-sucking fuck are you doing here?" he whispered harshly, his orbs enormous. "Has anyone seen you?" You didn't answer him, just scooped him up into a hug. To your surprise, your moirail offered none of his usual resistance, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing his hot little body to yours. You frantically pressed kiss after kiss to his face, so relieved that he was alive and unharmed. When the prince had called for him last night, you had been certain that it was the end, that he'd been found out and that they were going to torture him and that you were going to be next even though you hadn't done anything-

Karkat papped you, hard enough to make a tiny _slap_ sound. You realized you were shaking, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself.

"Shoosh, you fucking pansy. I can't fucking believe you're in here. Shhh shhh."

"I can't do this anymore," you whispered into his neck. "I almost lost my fucking mind worrying. I thought you'd been caught-" Karkat papped you again, and you stopped. When you pulled back to look at him, his expression was hard-set. If you hadn't known him better, you wouldn't have seen the pain in his face.

"You don't have to," he said, his gritty little voice as flat and serious as it could be. "I told you in the very beginning that you didn't have to be part of this, but I do. I have to fucking do this."

"If they find out-" you started, but Karkat cut you off.

"I know the punishment for treason, Mip. I've sat through enough fucking judgements to know. But I'm not going to get caught, and even if I fucking did, I wouldn't breathe a fucking word about you. You'd be safe…" He put a warm little hand on your cheek. "You don't have to do this," he whispered. "If you want to back out, just say the word. It won't change anything between us."

But it would. If Karkat was ever caught working with the rebels (gog forbid), you would be arrested and tortured alongside him for your affiliation as his moirail, even if they couldn't connect you to the rebellion itself. If you were going to back out of helping the rebels, you might as well break up with Karkat.

Your pumper gave a miserable pang at the thought, and you hugged him to you again.

"No," you whispered. "I can't leave you." Karkat gave a little chirrup at your words and kissed you on the lips, then jerked away and looked up and down the hall. When he was satisfied that no one had seen you, he unwrapped your arms from around him and stood at a distance that would be respectful for a troll of his station addressing a highblood. You immediately wanted to press against him again, but you knew that there would be plenty of time for that soon. Karkat always made up for his distant behavior behind closed doors.

"I went with the fucking plan," he was now saying excitedly, but softly, still looking cautiously over his shoulder every now and then. His orbs sparkled. "I convinced him to give Makara Vetina Nessin, that bulge-sucker. Hopefully it'll stop the mindless raids and murders. Plus, it'll get Nessin away from the court." You blinked, not understanding, and Karkat sighed in irritation before explaining. "The other court members will push her out when they hear she's a cultist's quadrant. They'll call her 'unfashionable,' but they'll really just think she's fucking gross. Which she is."

"Oh," you said. You didn't have the best understanding of court life, or the Church, or any relationship in between. Even as a purple-blooded high-guard, your job never lead you to step foot in the throne room where the court gathered, and you didn't know any members of the violet-blooded high-nobility personally. It was just the way the hemospectrum dictated things, which made you realize something…

You didn't usually ask many questions when it came to all of this; you'd rather not talk about it at all, but a thought kept nagging at you and you couldn't push it away.

"Won't Nessin refuse?" you murmured, as if by speaking the words you were waving a rebel flag. "I mean, she's a violetblood… Makara's beneath her." Karkat gave you a disapproving look for talking that way, but it was a difficult habit to break. You gave a little shrug as an apology.

"Eridan's a prince," Karkat said. "Whatever he fucking says goes. And she's power-hungry, I've told you. She'll fucking jump at the chance to make Eridan happy, even if it means losing her phony fucking friends and pailing a clown."

You would have smiled at the nasty thought, but you had heard far too many rumors about the Makara cultist to find it funny. According to your fellow guards, and Prince Ampora when he bellowed loud enough from his throne room, the clown was out of his think-pan worse than most of the cultists; you knew that he and his kind used the blood of trolls for paint, but rumor had it that Gamzee actually _drank it._

Plus, he seemed to have a strong distaste for highbloods that kept quadrants with trolls beneath their rank…

You must have gotten a worried look on your face, because Karkat reached up and papped you again. You grabbed hold of him and nestled down into the crook of his neck, rocking back and forth and kissing at his hot skin despite his protests. The anxiety that had been gnawing at you melted away with his heat, as it always did, and was replaced by that wondrous comfort and ease that only pale love could offer.

It surprised you in the most pleasant way when Karkat reached up and took one of your horns, smooth and curving back over your pan, into his warm little hand. You leaned down for him without hesitation. Karkat _never_ did horn-rubs outside of your block or his; getting caught doing something like that would give your moirallegiance away faster than anything.

But there was no one around now.

A rumbling purr started up in your chest as he rubbed and kneaded the smooth surface of your horn all the way down to the base, his fingers threading briefly through your hair before moving up again. His touch, so warm against your coolness, was one of the most glorious things you'd ever felt, and you would have done anything to let it go on forever. His scent, like spiced honey, turned your sponge to mush when you took a deep breath.

"Don't stop, love," you whimpered, leaning harder into him when he made to pull away. It had been too long since you'd been together like this, and you wanted more, _needed_ more. Karkat murmured something about you being "fucking ridiculous" and "an enormous and embarrassing sap," but he didn't stop. "Pale for you," you whispered, your orbs glassy and so full of love that he finally relented and pressed a sweet, warm kiss to your lips.

"Pale as fucking stars," he whispered back. His chest rumbled briefly against yours, and your blood-pusher throbbed furiously when you realized that he had rattled of a little purr. You instinctively reached for his horns, wanting more than anything to coax that sweet, elusive sound out of him again.

A door slammed open nearby, and the speed at which Karkat disentangled himself from you threw you off-balance for a brief moment. Armored guard boots clomped heavily and echoed across the marble tile, all the way up to the vaulted ceiling, and you straightened up to stand at attention even though you were off-duty. The troll that came around the corner wasn't anyone you recognized, however.

It was a clown.

The painted troll didn't give you or Karkat so much as a glance as he went by, though he passed closely enough that you could smell something sickly sweet clinging to him, something familiar. Your gaze couldn't help but follow his tall, wiry figure as he strolled leisurely toward the throne room, looking for all the world like he belonged here as much as you did. He had a broad set of shoulders and a mass of unruly hair that desperately needed a trim. His horns were long and spiraling, almost twice the length of yours, and studded with bits of iron; the tips of them glinted in a way that suggested they had been sharpened, a painful but common practice among the Subjugglators. He wore the lightweight, purple-dyed armor that all the clowns did, and a studded and stained club holstered on each hip. You were shocked that the guards outside hadn't taken the weapons from him before an audience with the prince. You were allowed to have your bow and a boot-dagger in the royal halls, but you were also a high-guard.

You and Karkat watched the clown more or less throw the throne room doors open and swagger right in. You heard Prince Ampora shout something, something that the cultist laughed a gritty laugh at, but it was too far away to make out. Karkat murmured, and you were so focused on whatever was going on in that room down the hall that you had to ask him to repeat himself.

"That's him," Karkat said. "That's Gamzee Makara."

* * *

 **Be Gamzee Makara.**

"The motherfuck is up?" you said, strolling yourself right on up to where the prince was sitting and gaping at you. He hesitated a split second, his squawk gaper hanging open like a scaly finbeast's, and then he was up and on his feet and spitting all kinds of blasphemousness at you. You laughed, and it only made him curse harder.

" _What the fuck were you thinkin'?!"_ he screeched. _"Burnin' half the fucking market?! Killin' a fuckin' indigo?! Have you no_ fuckin' _sense?!"_ You felt another laugh bubbling up in you at the way his face was turning all pinky-purple and shit, but you kept it down and promised the Messiahs that you would atone for the blasphemy with some righteous scripture.

"Whoa, whoa," you said, holding your hands up and smiling all peaceful. "Up and chill the motherfuck out. It was a motherfuckin' accident, s'all-"

"An accident?" Prince Ampora whispered, his violet orbs too big for his face all the sudden. "A fuckin' _accident?"_ You held your hands out again and shrugged, and the prince's orbs looked like they were going to pop out of his pan. Instead of screaming at you, though, his face suddenly got all calm-like. He stepped down the dais toward you, his sparkly-pretty cape slipping after him. You thought of how prissy and gaudy that shit looked.

"You know what I think, clown?" he said. That got your attention sure enough. The violetblood stopped moving, leaving a careful five-foot distance between you. You took the opportunity to study his height and the length of his arms, both shorter than yours. "I think the only accident here is you. You, and all the other zealot abominations are-"

"Motherfuckin' watch yourself, _wader_ ," you growled, your smile gone and your hands settling real gentle-like on your clubs. "Ain't no good to up and talk about the motherfuckin' family like that."

Ampora whisked his rapier out of its pretty little scabbard and held it level with your sight-bulbs. "What? Don't like bein' told what you are? A bunch of painted-up, deluded _freaks_?"

You didn't think, just lunged at him, tearing your clubs from their holsters and bringing them down in a hard arc. Ampora darted sideways in a flash of gold, and your weapons crashed down onto the floor with enough force to crack the marble.

You jerked away when you heard the whistle of a thin blade coming in quick, and you were glad as shit that his arms weren't as long as yours; the rapier thrust ended just short of you, giving you time to bring your clubs back up and knock them together a little. You grinned as sharp as you could grin at the pompous fucker as he backed away, a scowl on his pinched face _._ Blood pounded in your ears, and fuck all if you didn't feel like the motherfucking Messiah Raging.

You charged him again, keeping one club low and other one behind you. The brine-sucker didn't fall for your trick, though, and you ended up swinging wide and barely avoiding the little sticker-blade again. He laughed, an awful, filthy sound that tore at you, and you gritted your teeth.

"Come on, dirt-licker!" he hissed. "I've waited so fuckin' _long_ for this!" You snarled. Blasphemous brother wouldn't have to wait any fuckin' longer.

The motherfucker watched you make another dash at him, one club balanced back and the other low. The smug grin never left his face as he threw himself away from your wide swing, never guessing that you were actually tossing the weapon away to grab at his gaudy-ass cape. Your claws sunk into the glittering fabric, and you heaved him toward you. Ampora, thinking he would have another easy chance at jumping away and poking you between the ribs, stumbled and missed wildly with his rapier's thrust. You took the opportunity to fling your low club up and into his rapier hand. _Hard._

Ampora cried out in agony as his arm was bludgeoned upward and back. He immediately released the rapier's handle, betraying his lack of combat practice, and the weapon arced over his head to clatter on the floor behind him.

And yet, he wasn't left defenseless.

Multi-colored lights exploded before you as his fist connected with your unprotected temple, and you reeled. Messiahs, you had forgotten how tough waders were; he might as well have hit you with your own fuckin' club. You had let go of the cape, and you could hear the heretic dashing for his weapon. Even in your semi-conscious state you had the sense to bring your club up, and you felt more than heard the rapier's thin blade snap against your own iron-banded weapon.

"Fuckin' _freak!"_ a voice shrilled at you, all distant-sounding. " _You gogdamn fuckin'_ freak _!"_

Your vision was coming back, but it was blurry as all hell and you couldn't make out just where the motherfucker was, so you kept your club up and took the defensive. _Just you wait, motherfucker, til I can see you and your broke-ass little croakbeast sticker_ -

"Don't move,"a voice said from right behind you. At the same time, something cold and sharp pressed into your throat.

You threw your pan back hard, smashing into the motherfucker's nose and making them yell. Then, in a beautiful testament to your laughsassin training, you ducked down and away, lashing out behind you with one long leg. You felt the armored heel of your boot connect with whoever it was, and heard their gasp as the breath was knocked the fuck out of them. Ampora screamed something, and you barreled in that direction, club up and jagged teeth bared. You'd tear the fucker in half with just your fangs if you could get hold of him-

Something hissed by your pan before you took five steps, and you slid to a stop across the tile floor. _What the motherfuck now?_ You could clearly see Ampora finally, standing not ten feet away from you, his fins all flared up and his orbs burning red. The room was still swimming a little, but not so badly that you couldn't make out the figure of another troll, much shorter, standing beside him. It was the heretic-sister from outside, the one who thought you couldn't see her staring. She held a bow, another arrow already notched to the string and ready to let fly.

Recognizing when you'd been beat, you lowered your club.

"Drop it," the girl snapped, and you could hear military in her voice. Palace guard, you figured, a high-guard if her blood had anything to say about it. A heretic all the same.

"Not a chance, motherfucker," you told her. You heard the bow creak further back at your words, but you holstered your club anyway. She wouldn't shoot you, not even to protect her prince. She wouldn't chance the Church's wrath coming down on her if she killed one of their elite. You smirked at her when you went over to get your other club. The girl narrowed her orbs at you in a way that she probably thought was terrible mean, and you were half-tempted to show the little heretic what a mean look really was. But you had a bigger heretic to deal with.

With your weapons strapped loosely on your hips, you turned to the blasphemous wader prince and smiled real slow. You lifted your chin and held your hands out like the Grand motherfuckin' Highblood at the pulpit, rage and bloodlust pulsing through you in a miraculous rush. "You insult the motherfuckin' family," you told him, "you insult the motherfuckin' Church. You up and _fucked_ yourself, you _brine-suckin' motherfucker_." And with that, you sent the broken half of the rapier blade skittering across the floor with a kick, turned on your heel, and walked right the fuck out of the room.

* * *

 **Be Mipree Joclai.**

You sprinted to Karkat's side the second the clown stalked away. He was sitting upright now, but his breathing was labored and his nose was broken and bleeding badly. His face and neck were splashed candy-red with blood, and you snatched off your short guard's cape to mop it away, papping his cheek gently as you did so. Karkat tried to take a deep breath to speak, but his air sacks weren't ready to be filled up quite so full so soon, and he coughed hard. In that moment you forgot your secret, how hard you had worked to keep it from the world, and you crooned softly to him: _sweet love, shhhh shhh._

A shadow fell over you both, and you started to see Prince Ampora hovering over you. You expected to find concern for Karkat in his gaze, or a look of approval to you for your quick actions, or even surprise at your now-obvious relationship, but none of those things were there. Instead, his sight-bulbs were burning a hotter red than they had been when he was looking at the clown.

And he was looking right at _you_.

"You fuckin' _whore_ ," he hissed, and his voice and gaze were filled with such dark intent that you were stunned.

"P-Prince Ampora?" you stuttered, confused and terrified as he loomed over you. You let go of Karkat and spread your hands wide in a gesture of submission, struggling to explain yourself. "My prince, I-"

The other troll snatched you up by one of your horns so viciously that you cried out. Your first instinct was to defend yourself, but the violetblood was as fast as he was strong. With his free hand he punched you twice, the first one easily breaking your nose and loosening a few teeth, the second one blacking your left gander-orb. Then, with a wrench of his arm, he hurled you off your feet and away from Karkat. You hit the floor several yards away, rolling a few more before you stopped and were able to scrabble upright.

Prince Ampora was coming toward you by the time you were standing, and the look on his face promised death if you didn't run. You sobbed Karkat's name and stumbled for the open doors, blood slicking down your face. The prince reached the doors just as you threw yourself out and into the hallway. A sound like a thunderclap reverberated through the hall as they slammed shut behind you.

You rested on your knees and forearms, just as you'd fallen, and sobbed. Your nose gushed like a fountain, one of your teeth had fallen out, and you felt the sting in your orbs as more blood streamed from the cuts Prince Ampora's rings had left. The pain in your hemo-pumper was the worst, though, as you imagined your sweet Karkat still sitting on the floor with his busted nose and that terrified look on his face. You moaned, a long mournful sound that ended in a choked sob.

"' _And the motherfuckin' heretics shall up and suffer the most wicked of pain, and their motherfuckin' pain will be our mirth."'_

You raised your face from the floor and saw a pair of plated boots in front of you. Following the boots upward, you found yourself staring up into the smiling face of Gamzee Makara. His gander-orbs glinted with a strange light from within the dark smears of face-paint, and you stopped thinking about Karkat just long enough to fear for yourself.

You instinctively raised up onto your hands as the much bigger troll crouched suddenly and dabbed his long fingers in the pool of purple blood beneath you. _"Hilarities 2:16,_ my sweet sister," he said matter-of-factly. "One of my motherfuckin' favorites." He leaned forward, moving onto his hands and knees, and brought his face so close to yours that you could clearly see your terrified reflection in his too-big pupils. He smelled of blood and that sickly sweetness that you now recognized as sopor slime.

"Want to know a motherfuckin' secret?" he said softly, his lazy smile spreading wider; his fangs were sharp beyond what nature intended. You didn't reply, horrified as you were while you thought of why his teeth were filed like that, but he moved close to your pan anyway. His breath ghosted across your ear as he spoke: "My favorite color. It's motherfuckin' _heretic… purple_ …"

You stared straight ahead, your body rigid and paralyzed with new terror. There was a soft, wet sound from beside you, and then the other troll groaned low and deep and animalistic in his chest. He leaned forward until his body was pressed against you, the side of his pan resting against yours, and then whispered into your ear as flushed as a needing matesprit:

"Messiahs, lil' mama… you taste like motherfuckin' _miracles._ "

You shoved the clown away, and he laughed as he rolled nimbly backward and jumped upright. His lips were smeared with your blood as he lolled his tongue slowly, lewdly over his fingers. You struggled to your feet, slipping once in the puddle under you, and then ran for all you were worth, the clown's crazed laughter echoing after you.


	2. Pale and Pitch

**Response to Straychild's review of chapter 1:** _While I am playing around a little with creating more shades between the obvious colors on the hemospectrum, Mipree's blood is definitely much closer to Gamzee's color than Eridan's. On the hemospectrum, she's officially labeled as a purpleblood, not violet-. So, no fins. ;} Mipree's blood color is noted in chapter 1, but we move past it quickly. Thanks for asking!_

* * *

Warning: dubious consent

* * *

 **Be Eridan Ampora.**

You were sick. Not in a pox way, but in your quadrants. Just watching that little mud-sucker bitch touch your servant made bile rise in your throat.

You dropped your face into your hands, fins flaring out again as you thought about it all again from the beginning. Karkat had never said a word to you about having a moirail, and you felt a cold fury ripping at you about that. _You_ told him everything. _You_ were closer to him than any other troll alive. How fucking _dare_ he turn on you like this?

Your mind wandered from anger to longing, and you thought of the countless times you had touched his hot skin, shared wine with him, stumbled dizzy and drunk into your respite block while he clung to you and slurred your name.

No. Not your name. _My prince,_ or _my lord._ Never your name, not unless you made him.

You had shown him pleasure and pity beyond anything anyone else could ever offer him, proven that you would have made a fucking _magnificent_ moirail or matesprit. Your body reacted indecisively with that pale ache in your chest and a flushed throb in your pants. You groaned.

Why the _fuck_ wouldn't he tell you about his quadrants?

You had apologized to him after that horrible scene, when you'd had to thrash the little peasant and toss her out. You'd gotten down on your knees and tried to take him into your arms even though you were wearing your new silk shirt and he was covered in blood, but he wouldn't let you. He twisted away from you and collapsed on the floor, sobbing and covering his face. You had climbed on top of him and kissed his neck as pale as you could, but you couldn't completely push away the flushed feelings that nagged at you as you hovered over him. Karkat had gone all rigid then, holding real still as you pressed against his heat and kissed the gold rings you had once slipped onto his horns. He felt so good underneath you.

He didn't say anything when you gathered him up (he was so small against you) and took him to your private ablution block. Carefully, you stripped him out of the ruined finery you had had made for him until all he was wearing was jewelry and his own blood. You had intended to make this pale, love him soft and gentle while you washed him, but the sight of his tender, naked body under your fingers was too much; your bulge, half-out in your pants since the moment you had kissed him earlier, throbbed and coiled around your thigh as it sought something to bury itself in. It found your own nook, as desperate as it was, and began to worm its way in. You bit back an undignified noise.

Karkat hung his pan low, his hair covering his orbs while his nose steadily dripped a bright-red pool onto the marble floor. You were glad he couldn't see you as you stripped hastily out of your own stained clothes and ordered the water on. Your bulge slipped out of you when you stepped close to Karkat to wash him; it writhed and searched for him as though it could recognize his heat, and you had to stand awkwardly to keep it far enough away from touching him.

He needed you to be pale for him right now, and fucking pale you would be.

Karkat stood still for you at first while you sponged the red off of him from behind, but eventually he began to shiver. You had bathed with him plenty of times before, knew that his little body didn't like the cold water you enjoyed so much, but you had been a little distracted. You ordered the temperature up a little, voice echoing over the spray to the high ceiling. He stopped shivering quite so hard, and his shoulders relaxed. He swayed slightly with your movements as you washed him.

The red stopped swirling down the drain, and you moved to grab some soap for the second go-around. When you did, though, you moved just a little too close to the other troll. Your bulge, frustrated and doubly slick with desire, whipped against the small of his back. He stiffened and raised his pan slightly, but didn't turn around or move away. You stood just as still, your bulge slithering and flicking desperately over his hot skin.

Karkat lowered his pan again, his shoulders bowing down submissively. You licked your lips at that and shifted a little closer to him, letting your bulge curl around his narrow hip. He didn't move, and when you leaned around to look at his face you saw that his orbs were closed, his expression relaxed like he was waiting for you. His bulge wasn't out, but you knew that he was shy about this sort of thing. He'd probably wanted this all along.

Taking your own impatient bulge in your hand to keep it from slipping wherever it wanted before you were ready, you moved close to your servant and pushed him gently but purposefully toward the seat carved into the wall. He didn't resist, as aching as he probably was for you, stepping with the push and bringing his hands out to rest on the edge of it. His hair was plastered against his face and neck, and it made him look so much smaller and so very defenseless...

Your bulge curled around your wrist and squeezed hard enough to make your hand throb.

You pulled away from it and let it wriggle over Karkat's back as you pushed him again, this time to rest down on his forearms. He obeyed again, always such a good servant, and you couldn't stop a pleased chirrup from escaping you. You took his hips in your hands and let your bulge feel for him, slipping down between his thighs and at last finding his slit.

Karkat gave a piercing cry when you pushed into him too fast, too hard. You couldn't help it, though; his heat was almost enough to make you spill immediately, and his nook was tight, not ready for you, but it was his own fault for being so shy. You took a moment to steady yourself as he trembled under you, his knees bending so that you had to hold him up a little.

"You'll be fine," you whispered, orbs glazed as you felt your bulge twist around and push at his shuddering insides. He would slick up soon enough, and his bulge would slip out and he would whimper and writhe under you the way you loved. You would make him say your name, draw it out of him in a long moan. You took a fistful of his wet hair and bent over him, smoothing your other hand over the scarred expanse of his back.

It took a little longer this time to coax any sounds out of him, but you figured it was because his nose was still broken. You would fix it, you told him. Call up the medics to bring you something as soon as you were finished. Until then, though, he would have to suffer a little. You didn't say that last bit, but you both understood it.

"Mmm-mmm-aah-hahh…"

You thrust harder at the sound of his broken little moan, gripping his shoulder now as you drove into him. His nook was better accommodating you now, and you could feel his bulge twisting under and seeking you. You gave his shoulder a sharp squeeze with your claws, a quick reminder, and he reached under to take hold of his own bulge before it could slip around and into your nook. It was the one way you wouldn't let him touch you.

You panted as you neared your release. You might have liked to pull out of him and turn him over, fill his mouth with your genetic material, but not this time. He couldn't say your name if you had your bulge down his throat.

"Say it," you growled, pumping hard into his pliant little body. He jerked underneath you, whimpering and gasping but not forming the word you wanted. You scowled and slowed your pace, thinking that would get his attention, but it didn't. He kept moaning and pushing his hips back against you, pumping and squeezing his bulge in his hand.

You withdrew from him, angry and jealous and suddenly wanting to hurt him. Holding your bulge tightly to keep it from slithering back, you guided it to his other hole and pressed. Karkat didn't seem to notice until your bulge had gotten the idea and wormed its way right in, stretching him hard.

He screamed. You took his hair in your fist again as he scrabbled against the seat, trying to get away from you.

"I gave you an order, _lowblood,_ " you hissed. Karkat gave a wordless cry and reached back, trying to grab hold of the hand in his hair. You forced him down against the seat, sinking your weight on him completely and pushing your bulge as deep as it would go. He let out a choked sound and stopped fighting you. You gave an experimental thrust, marveling at how delicious and warm he was. Your bulge pulsed warningly as you started up a slow pace.

"Say it," you whispered again, your voice barely carrying over the water jets, but you knew that Karkat could hear you. You were resting flush against him, grub scars sliding up and down over his back in a way that made you shudder while you thrusted.

"Ah… Eri-… Eri-dan," he gritted. His face was scrunched and red, his orbs squeezed shut tight.

"Again." You picked up the pace, drawing a low and desperate moan out of him. You forced his pan to the side and closed your mouth on his neck, sucking hard. He said your name again, and it came out as more of a choppy gasp. You didn't mind, but you wanted more. You bit his ear hard enough to make him cry, and he said it again.

It became a broken chant as you pumped your hips, and the more you moved the louder and faster Karkat spoke. Within moments you were jackhammering into him, and he was sobbing and screaming your name at the same time. You pulled out of him and thrust deep into his nook to release, spilling hard enough to cry out yourself. Karkat was still weeping your name, though softly, when you slowed your thrusting and filled him so taught that his belly swelled like a ball and some of your material ran down his thighs in violet streaks. You wrapped your arms around him and forced his pan back you could kiss him. He let you, still murmuring your name until you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He was shaking hard.

You withdrew and coaxed the material out of him then, rubbing and pushing on his distended belly until it all gushed out of him and down the drain; you had decided long ago that you would never save such a mix for the drones. Karkat stayed where he was, slumped against the marble seat, while you washed yourself and him a second time. His orbs were open, wide and hollow while you sponged gingerly between his legs.

He let you stand him up then (albeit slowly) and dry him off, but you had to carry him out of the ablution block. You didn't mind that at all, him needing you like this. It felt fucking good, and you decided in that moment that you would do what you had done more often.

After placing the limp Karkat on a pile of silk fluffy devices, you dressed and combed your hair. He turned to face the wall and fell asleep before you even had your boots on, not moving when you called his name. You would call the medics later.

Now, Karkat was still sleeping in that room and you were on your throne, flipping through the records of high-guards in your service. It didn't take long to find the girl.

 _Mipree Joclai_.

Your dug your free claws into your palm, remembering the terrified look on her stupid face when you stood over her. Your feelings tried to flicker pitch, you were so desperate and lonely, but you crushed that shit immediately. No moirail-stealing whore was going to be your quadrant. She didn't deserve you.

And she didn't deserve Karkat, either.

You looked downward, fins burning with anger, and found the damage that Makara's club had left on the tile. A solid chunk of the black marble had come loose, and the spot was surrounded by a webbing of cracks. You were desperately wishing that that had been the peasant girl's pan instead of your beautiful floor when things began to fall together. You stared hard at the broken floor, mind racing.

Yes. Yes, you would do it.

You lunged over to press a button on the table next to you, biting your lip in anticipation. It took everything in your power to sit calmly and wait for an answer instead of running to fetch the nearest servant.

* * *

 **Be Mipree Joclai**

You didn't see Karkat for the next 39 hours. It was painful enough to haul your battered body out of your recuperacoon and strap on your armor, but to think about Karkat had you in such torment that you thought you might die.

But you didn't.

You took your rampart watch like any other day, even if you leaned against your borrowed bow (you had left yours in the throne room during the fight) and wept inwardly for most of it. When your duty ended, you rushed without bothering to remove your armor to the royal halls to try and sneak into Karkat's little block. You ended up stopping short on account of there were too many guards around, and you did your best to look inconspicuous while you slunk away.

You made yourself go to the infirmary after that, and the medics shot you full of stuff that healed your bruises and cuts up and grew back your missing teeth as good as new. They didn't ask any questions, and you didn't prompt any. They did tell you to eat, though, and so you trudged down to the mess for dinner. You hadn't had your tray of standard feed-mush for more than a minute before a troll came up to you. He had the bright-faced look of a new recruit, and a slender box tucked under one arm. You were sitting alone when he approached you; your usual group could tell that you didn't feel well.

"Archer," he said, identifying you by the cut of your clothes, "I have something for-" He fumbled a little and rushed a clumsy bow when he saw the silver pin at your throat. "Archeradicator," he said, not rising up from the bad bow. "Forgive me. I didn't realize…" You waved him to straighten up and spit it out. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as he put the box on the table.

"For you," he murmured. "My apologies…"

"What is it?" you muttered, pulling the black box toward you irately. You felt sick, and wanted to be left alone. "Who sent it?"

"I don't know, ma'am. Higher-up gave it to me, told me to find you before I did anything else."

You lifted the lid and started to peek inside when the transmitter on your wrist vibrated and beeped softly. You saw the message flashed across the little blue screen, and the blood left your face; at the end of the message was the royal symbol, a golden trident. The little bit of feed-mush you'd swallowed started to creep its way back up your throat.

"Ma'am? Is everything all right?" You looked up to see the younger troll staring at you, his face full of concern. You could only imagine what sort of expression you yourself were wearing.

"Yes," you told him, softly, mechanically. You focused on smoothing your face out into something you hoped was unreadable. "That'll be all, recruit. Go get yourself something to eat."

* * *

' _throne room. half an hour. wear this.'_

You moved as quickly as you could make yourself to the guards' respite hall. Almost everyone was down at the mess for dinner, so it was quiet except for the occasional burst of laughter or talking through some of the block doors. You reached your own block without running into anyone, and as you keyed in your code to unlock the door you hoped dearly that you would find Karkat slumped on a pile of fluffy devices and watching a rom-com the way you did sometimes. He was the only other troll who knew your block-code. He would know what was going on, what the strange message from the prince meant.

But he wasn't there.

The door hissed shut behind you, and you were left standing in the plain, dark space with the muffled sound of your neighbors pailing in the next block. You stood there for a moment, still holding the box under one arm, until you remembered yourself. Gripping the box by its lid, you let the bottom slide off to land on your desk.

Gold and purple winked up at you.

You slowly pulled the glittering thing up and out of the box with a mixture of confusion and awe. It was a gown, all gold and complicated stitching and heavy gemstones like the high-nobles and prince wore. The only silk you had ever touched before was Karkat's little gold caplet, the one that Prince Ampora had had fashioned for him, but this was a thousand times smoother. You ran your hands over the fabric, admiring the purple stones that skilled clothrippers had done into the fabric.

Was this… an apology of sorts? You weren't sure, but there wasn't much time to think about it; you had a feeling that this thing had been made specifically for you, and you had your orders. Stripping out of your clothes, you picked up the gown and tried to work it over your curving horns. Putting the thing on took a little more work than you had imagined it would; the neckline was small and didn't offer much leeway for you to slip your horns through, and the bodice was too tight for you to take a full breath. Still, after much wriggling and squeezing and grunting you were dressed.

You moved to the desk to pick up the slippers that had been under the gown, and the skirt promptly ripped open. You gasped in horror and bent quickly to inspect the damage, only to find that the skirt was intentionally tailored in a split that ran up your thigh. If the tight neckline and the bodice didn't make you uncomfortable, this sure as hell did. You'd forever worn the plain, military-issued tunic and loose trousers that all purple-blooded guards wore, never a dress or a skirt. It felt strange to be so… exposed.

You did your best to hold the bejeweled skirt shut as you tottered over to get the shoes, which, mercifully, were as flat as your plated boots. They were nothing special compared to the gown's elaborate design, but the soft white silk was beyond anything your feet had ever been treated to. If you were allowed to keep any of this afterward, you desperately hoped that it was the slippers.

Someone pounded on your block door, and you jumped. Before you could answer the door yourself, you heard the code-pad beeping, and then the door hissed open. Two blue-blooded guards, still armored but not toting weapons, stood before you. They were huge, broad-shouldered and beefy, not any trolls that you recognized; you trained archers, not muscle-goons.

"Prince Ampora requests your presence immediately," one of them said gruffly. You lifted your chin at him, not liking his tone.

"I know that, _blueblood_ ," you said stiffly, treading especially heavy on the last word. You thought of how Karkat would set his jaw and narrow his bulbs at you for talking that way, but only briefly. "Who gave you my access code? That sort of information is forbidden to your rank-"

You were startled as the other guard, the taller of the two, stepped right into your block and seized you by the arm with a thick, gauntleted hand. His grip made you yelp, and you realized why the two of them weren't carrying any weapons; as big as they were, and with their plate armor and black-striped helmets, they must have been Ruffiannihilators.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!" you screeched. The other troll hauled you out of your block, ignoring the way you twisted and beat against his arm. His companion had already started off down the hallway, and he followed, dragging you right along with him. Behind you, your door beeped its little security warning and shut with a soft hiss.

"Let go of me, you nookstain!" you shrieked, unintentionally drawing on Karkat's nasty vocabulary to voice your anger as you stumbled along. "I'm a purple-rank Archeradicat- AHH!" The blueblood squeezed your arm hard, and you felt the bones stress under your flesh. When you tried to tear away, the other troll gave an easy tug that almost pulled your limb clear out of its socket.

What the fuck was happening? Never in your life had you been so ill-treated by a lower-ranking troll, and in the palace of all places! It was enough to set your blood aboil. You growled to yourself about the punishment for such an offense, and the troll hauling on your arm looked down at you. His gaze settled on your exposed thigh, and he gave an appreciative click. You glared up at him as best you could in your state, and he grinned with a mouthful of broken teeth. A rough hand grabbed your ass then, and you gave a little scream and jerked around; the other guard smirked at you and made a suggestive churring sound, rolling his hips a little.

The Ruffiannihilators laughed, and then, for reasons you didn't understand, started to make honking noises as they gyrated their hips and gestured lewdly at you. One of them pretended to be in the midst of pailing and moaned something about messiahs. You ignored them and stared hard at both of their faces, burning them into your memory for vengeful purposes.

They dragged you all the way to the royal halls like that, laughing their rumbling laughs and poking at you and just about pulling your arm damn-near off. As angry as they had made you, your fear outweighed your rage when you finally stood in front of the throne room's double doors. You could hear voices, many voices, music, and laughter from inside the room. The Ruffiannihilator not holding onto you pushed one of the doors open and slipped inside, allowing a brief burst of sound into the hallway and a glimpse into the throne room.

You blanched for the second time that day, the blood leaving your face just as the light from the room did. The door closed with a dull _thud._ There had been violetbloods everywhere, more than you could count, all decked out in their silks and jewels. It was a party of some sort, the likes of which you had never seen.

"Three-hundred hours," the Ruffiannihilator beside you said. You glared upward to see him staring seriously at you for the first time. "You gotta last three-hundred hours," he said again, "then you can get yourself clubbed. I got a bet. Don't fuck it up for me."

You narrowed your orbs nastily, not understanding or caring much about what he was saying. Before you could reply, the door opened again and the other blueblood giant was ushering you inside. You were dazzled by music and sparkling lights, far too much to take in as the Ruffiannihilator dragged you through the party. You smelled wine and food, the kind that you got a taste of only around Twelfth Perigree's Eve, and you heard the lilting, flowing speech of the river language, the violetblood's common tongue. It was beautiful, the sounds and the sights and the scents, and it ended all too quickly as you were pushed through a door on the far side of the room. It closed behind you, shutting the sound of the party out completely; soundproof.

The space you were in now was significantly smaller than the first, but was no less lavish; tapestries hung from the walls, plush carpets were spread over the floors, and the vaulted ceiling was painted with a stunning oceanic mural. The furniture in the room was gorgeous too, all inlaid with gold and pearls and-

You dropped to one knee when you saw Prince Ampora sitting at the head of the long, bejeweled table. In the flash that you got of him before you averted your gaze, you saw that he was wearing gold and violet from his horns to his feet.

"Enjoyin' the view, peasant?" he said, unfolding his long legs and taking his boots off the tabletop. You kept your orbs firmly on the carpet as you heard the chair skiff back across the floor. Sharp steps across the tile, then muffled whispers of movement across the rugs. A pair of gold boots came into view and stopped right at the edge of your vision. You smelled sweet ambergris.

"You're late," he whispered, almost so softly that you didn't hear. You weren't sure what to say, and so you apologized in a similar whisper.

"I'm sorry, my Prince."

"Only sorry?" the violetblood murmured. A gasp escaped you as his cold fingers traced the tip of one of your horns, gentle as a lover. You could have sworn you heard him chuckle softly when you shivered.

Blood rushed in your ears as you were wrenched upright by your horn, and for a half second you felt faint. You looked up and flinched; Prince Ampora's lips were curled back over his fangs, and his sight-bulbs burned at you. He pushed you backward suddenly, taking long strides that had you stumbling over your gown, but you didn't trip; the prince's cold grip on your horn was too tight to let you fall.

You gasped as you were slammed against a wall, pressed flat by the other troll's weight. The fingers on your horn squeezed so tightly that you barely bit back a whimper, and you heard the prince growl low in his throat. He squeezed tighter, and you half-screamed. Your hands instinctively opened into claws at your sides, but you kept them down as best you could because you would certainly die if you fought back. The prince must have seen your arms flinch, though, because he let go of your horn and backhanded you. His knuckles jarred your cheek, and you knew the skin would bruise.

"You would dare?" he hissed. Before you could say anything he slapped you again, this time hard enough to turn your pan and leave you tasting blood. The instincts of self-preservation that you had been repressing kicked into gear without warning, and before you knew it you had brought your knee up into the seadweller's side. He grunted, clearly a pained sound, but the blow wasn't enough to move him. Terror flashed through you in a hot jolt when he grabbed hold of your face, his grip mightily suggesting that he meant to break your jaw.

Cold lips crushed against yours, and your orbs opened wide in surprise. You purposely fought back then, pushing and trying to twist away from the violetblood, but he was immoveable. You parted your lips to say something, to scream, you weren't entirely sure which or to who, and the prince took the opportunity to force his tongue into your mouth. You made a muffled sound of surprise and redoubled your efforts to wriggle free, but the bigger troll had kneed your legs apart and was forcing you completely flush to the wall with his weight. You tried to push him again, but he was so heavy and you had no leverage. Something moved against your thigh then, and you realized that his bulge was writhing inside his pants.

You bit down on the tongue that was pushing at yours, and the prince shoved away from you. You were left leaning against the wall as he put a hand to his mouth and inspected his bloody fingers. He looked up at you, his orbs no longer red, but wide-pupiled and black with lust.

Pitch.

You expected him to come at you again, the look on his face was so intent, but he didn't. Instead, he stalked away and slumped into his chair at the head of the table. You straightened up slowly, the back of your skull aching where it had hit the wall and your mouth sore from the unexpected plundering. It was all you could do to not tremble as you watched the prince catch his breath and pull a silk kerchief from his pocket to wipe at the violet and purple on his lips. The look on his face was violent, wild. It scared you profoundly, and even more so when looked into his orbs and saw that black lust there.

It didn't make sense for him to have pitch feelings for you. You had no doubt that was what you had seen when he'd looked at you, you knew that look well, but you didn't know one another at all, had no reason or opportunity to sow any sort of hate.

"All right," he said finally, his voice as smooth and calm as when he'd whispered to you earlier. The sudden change in him was terrifying. "Come here to me. Let's see just how badly you fucked the lacin' up."

You hesitated, and the seadweller gave an impatient and aggressive click that prompted you to obey. You couldn't bring yourself to lower your gaze from him the way you were supposed to as you approached, nervous as you were that he would grab you again, and he narrowed his orbs at the slight. That lust-filled look was still there, burning dark at you.

You couldn't look away from him.

"Careful, peasant," he said softly. You felt sick as he stood up and began to circle you slowly; it was horrible, having the finest military training on the planet and not being able to use a lick of it.

The prince's movements were calculating, predatory. Your orbs followed him, trained fearfully on his face. He stepped in close, and you caught the sharp, salty scent that clung to him under the ambergris; you were surprised at how pleasant you found it. There was another scent on him, though, like spice…

"Could be worse," he said tersely. "Turn around."

You stared at him, your breathing turning shallower and faster. You didn't want to give him your back.

The violetblood growled, a rumbling sound that made your hair stand on end. His orbs got bigger, and you turned quickly just to keep from riling him up any further. What could you do, really, if he attacked you from the front? Icy fingers glided across the exposed flesh of your back, deceptively gentle, and you tensed so hard that your knees locked.

"This is a fuckin' mess," the prince muttered. You felt him undo some of the lacing that you'd bungled, then carefully retie it. Your breath hitched when he pulled the back of the gown painfully tight.

"Don't have much to work with," he said beside your ear, and you could hear the distaste and ridicule in his voice, "but tightenin' this up will help some of that." His hands settled on your waist, gave a slight squeeze and caress that most certainly didn't go unnoticed, and then he turned you around to face him.

You tilted your face up to meet his gaze, hoping that he would get a good look at your orbs and that that would smother the pitch burning in his. Whether he could tell your feelings or not, though, his pupils stayed wide and wanting. He lifted a hand, and you flinched a little at the gesture, but he was only moving to run a thumb over the bruised spot on your cheek. You winced as his jeweled thumb ring scraped a little across your swollen flesh.

"Can't have that," the prince murmured. He let go of you. You watched him go over to a small case on the table and open it up. It hissed out air and a little puff of a cloud, and then he was holding a syringe in his long fingers. You saw the pale-green liquid inside and recognized it as the same stuff that the medics had stuck into you. The realization made your nutrition sack flip.

He had planned this.

Your knees felt weak, and you fought to keep yourself from swaying as the seadweller came toward you with the needle, orbs still smoldering with dark lust. You didn't like the idea of him bringing something sharp close to your face, not with that look on his face, but in the end you didn't have much of a choice. You closed your orbs when he took hold of your chin, firmly but not painfully, and stuck the needle into your cheek. The tingling, almost numbing sensation spread over the swelled area, and you knew that in minutes the bruise would be gone.

The prince watched the spot on your face carefully until it healed, and then he handed you his stained kerchief. The look on his face suddenly reflected a sort of high-bred revulsion. "Wipe your mouth," he said, almost like a lusus chastising a wriggler. You took the silk thing from him and did as you were told, just like a wriggler, and he sat back down and put the syringe away.

A quarter-hour passed, and the prince didn't say a word to you. He stared at the tabletop, the lustful fading slowly from his bulbs, while you stood closeby. You didn't dare say a word.

The suffocating silence weighed on you as time crept on, and when the door hissed open you jumped so hard you almost banged your knee into a chair. You turned from facing the prince to look at the door, and more dread settled itself heavily in your chest.

"Makara," Prince Ampora said, his voice strained to sound respectful as the clown and three other subjugglators approached. "I wasn't expecting others."

Makara didn't answer, but walked right up to you and the prince with his group keeping a few steps behind. Unlike the others, he was wearing a smile underneath his ghastly paint. Behind him, the door reached its timer and shut slowly. As it closed, you realized that the music in the other room had stopped.

The clown spread his hands in a peaceful gesture, but didn't bow. "Ampora," he said, still smiling as genuinely as anyone could, as if he had never fought with the prince at all. His studded, sharpened horns glinted in the moonglow through the wide windows, and your orbs moved from them to settle on his clubs, still strapped on his hips. The other subjugglators wore their clubs too, and the little part of you that wasn't drowning in fear marveled that they were all allowed to carry their weapons in here. Your gaze caught one of the other clowns', one with uneven and jagged horns. He grinned a big set of razor-filed teeth and winked. You held his look as best you could, determined not to let him get any pleasure out of shaking you up, until he let his tongue slither out and flick at you; you averted your orbs in shock and disgust from the line of studs pierced there.

Something cold touched the small of your back, and you realized that Prince Ampora had settled his hand there. You had fallen behind in the conversation.

"Mipree Joclai," the prince said, pushing you forward slightly. You stepped rigidly with his motion and found yourself looking right up at the Makara clown. He blinked languidly down at you, gaze blatantly raking your body, and you saw that his pupils were blown wide. The thick, cloying smell of sopor on him hit you like a wall.

You fumbled when you realized you were staring, but still managed a quick, military-style bow, the only courtly greeting you knew. "Subjugglator Makara," you said to his boots. Were those blue or purple stains on the toes? You didn't have enough time to stare. You rose back up, and were startled to see clown's orbs sparkling with sudden recognition. He threw his pan back, curly hair falling over his shoulders in a dark mass, and laughed. It was an eerie, powerful sound that echoed up to the ceiling and rattled you from the inside.

The clown swept his arms out wide then and bowed deep, extending one long leg in front of him. It was a dramatic mockery as far as courtly bows went, but it was far more than he had done for the prince. "A motherfuckin' _pleasure_ to see you again, sis," he said, drawing out the word 'pleasure' far longer than necessary. For a moment you were so lost in the memory of what had happened outside the throne room that you almost didn't hear Prince Ampora speaking behind you.

"You… know each other?" The violetblood's tone was stiff, and clearly offended. You didn't know what to say, but it didn't matter; the clown was speaking for you.

"We only just up and motherfuckin' met," he was saying in his slow, gravelly way. His smile was wide and lazy as he hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Didn't have any motherfuckin' time to get our conversin' on. Sister was in a motherfuckin' hurry."He glanced down at you and licked his lips a little. Your guts twisted.

Prince Eridan gave an impassive click, clearly not catching any of the subtleties that the clown was throwing your way. "I see. Makara, I'd like to speak with you in private for a moment, if you would allow." His tone gave no indication that the clown wouldn't allow.

Makara blinked slowly, then half-looked over his shoulder and nodded at the other subjugglators, all of whom looked suddenly tense. They relaxed visibly at his gesture, but their hands stayed near their clubs. Prince Eridan and the Makara clown walked almost side-by-side into one of the many side rooms, leaving you alone with the remaining cultists.

They stared at you. You found yourself looking at the plush carpet to avoid their gazes, but it was difficult to not glance upward every now and then. Once you saw the one with the pierced tongue ogling your rumble spheres through the tight dress. He made you uncomfortable, but not as much as the troll next to him. She was short by purpleblood standards, the top of her pan not quite reaching her tallest companion's shoulder. Her hair was cut in a haphazard and asymmetrical way that suggested she did it herself, and without a mirror; it gave her a savage look that matched the light in her orbs. The expression she turned on you when your gazes met was laden with such hate and disgust that you broke the contact immediately.

The last of the clowns didn't pay much attention to you at all. His neatly combed hair and smooth expression made him look more put together than the others, more sane really, but that didn't mean anything. You watched him warily as he pulled a wicked little knife from inside one of his bracers and cleaned his claws idly.

You heard Makara laugh, still a powerful and unsettling sound though it was muffled, and you glanced back at the door. It opened up and he and Prince Ampora stepped out.

"… things will be moved soon enough," the seadweller was saying.

"That's all shades of motherfuckin' fine."

They strolled toward you, Makara swinging his lanky arms and just about skipping along. Prince Ampora was smiling; it was a chilly expression that didn't quite reach his orbs. You blinked when he turned that smile on you and stopped next to his chair, casually leaning on the back of it.

He looked awfully satisfied about something.

You were so busy trying to read the seadweller that you didn't notice the Makara clown coming up on you until it was too late. In a motion almost too quick for you to follow, he dropped his shoulder and ducked into you. One arm scooped your legs, and then you were hefted over his shoulder. You shrieked as you were jerked up and into the air.

"Much happiness to you both!" you heard Prince Ampora call as the subjugglator started off, setting you to bouncing. You scrabbled at the clown's back to keep your balance as you looked back at the smiling prince. Through your hair, you thought you saw him trace a spade over his chest.

Gamzee Makara laughed again, and your skull rang with the raucous sound.


End file.
